


Shake, Bend and Break

by orphan_account



Series: Blue Neighborhood [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Childhood Friends, Kinda, Like, M/M, Marco has a philosophical bone, Marco's POV, Mentions of suicide attempt, Mentios of Depression, Songfic, but is not actually a songfic, i got inspired by a song, lots of metaphors, mentions of physical abuse, water and sea and drowning metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4867151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I fell in love with Jean when we were twelve, and he pushed me off the harbor ‘cause I was too scared to jump.</p><p>At the time, I thought we were going to be together forever.</p><p>I guess life had other plans for us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shake, Bend and Break

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, this is the first part of the Blue Neighborhood Trilogy. As some of you might know, this is inspired by Troye Sivan's trilogy by the same name.  
> The first one is Wild, you should totally check the video :)  
> I wrote this based on the lyrics, the video, and the meaning I saw in the song.
> 
> Please tell me if you see any mistakes, English isn't my mother tounge and punctuation is my weakness!  
> Important: When Jean talks about religion and Church, is not meant to offend anybody. I respect every religion and every person can choose what to believe in.
> 
> I hope you like it!

 

I fell in love with Jean when we were twelve, and he pushed me off the harbor ‘cause I was too scared to jump.

My chest hit the cold water first, and it hurt for a week straight, but when I swam to the surface, eyes full of angry tears, shaking and ready to rant at him, I saw him laughing so hard he could barely breath, both hands in his stomach and watery eyes.

And he looked so gorgeous at the dim early afternoon light, hair sticking in all different ways and sun kissed skin, that I forgot he was making fun of me.

Now, in retrospective, I wonder if it was a sudden thing; a feeling that hit me like my body hit the water... Or if it was something way more complicated, like a little pond inside of me that grew up with the years, and that day just overflowed.

Either way, the feeling was there, and I was sure I was drowning.

But I didn’t tell him, obviously. Jean was a flight risk in every sense, and I didn’t want to give him a reason to make up his mind and leave me.

So I kept my mouth shut, hoping that the feeling would simply go away if I pretended it wasn’t there.

I’ve been always terrible at play pretend, but I was very good lying to myself.

****

-o-o-

****

My favorite thing about Jean was the way he always stood up for what he believed was right, how he never gave up without putting up a fight. He was brave, and I admired him for that. However, there’re are things a fourteen years old just can’t fight for.

****

Jean’s dad was an alcoholic, but a fishman who got a little over the top with his beers wasn’t something the people of the little East Coast of Jinae hadn’t heard of before.

He wasn’t mean to Jean, and he was a functional member of the community, so nobody payed attention.

My dad and Mr.Kirschtein liked to sit by the beach to drink and talk, and usually Jean and I tagged along with them so we could explore together. We liked to bury treasures and poke the dead jellyfishes that the waves dragged to the shore with sticks.

Once, Jean’s dad drank too much and said something he shouldn’t. My dad never wanted to tell me exactly what had happened, but that day Mr.Kirschtein took Jean by the arm and dragged him away in the middle of our experiment with a dead squid, ignoring both of our complaints as he and my dad screamed at each other.

The next morning, I found out that had been the first day Jean’s dad had hit him.

He didn’t wanted to tell me, but I knew him too well to not notice the way he wore his backpack in just one shoulder, or the way he was being extra careful so nobody touched him on the ribs.

I made him take his shirt off in the school bathroom, and the image of his skin, pale until the next summer, marked with dark bruises got stuck in my mind for many many years.

I never told anyone because he asked me to, but the thing in small towns is that rumors spread like fire, and two weeks after the bathroom incident, Jean told me he was leaving.

We were in my room, TV on but neither of us paying attention to it. We built a fort with my sheets and hided in it, and I was talking about stars and galaxies when he interrupted me.

‘I’m leaving Jinae’ he said, point-blank, no sugarcoating. Just how he was.

I must admit, the words didn’t make sense to me right away. It took me about a minute to understand the consequences of that simple sentence.

‘You’re...leaving?’ I asked, dumbly and confused. He nodded.

His mom, whom he hadn't seen in years, was taking him away to Trost, he said.

And then I realized: no matter what I did, Jean was leaving me. And it wasn’t even my fault.

I had been trying to push my feelings away in order to keep Jean for two years, but now he would leave anyways, and the feelings would stay.

Destiny was cruel to us.

I kissed him because I realized that the only thing I could barely control was the present.

It was awkward and inexperienced, but it was everything I could offer, and I don’t know what hurt the most: the feeling of Jean kissing me back, or the taste of tears staining our lips.

I begged him not to leave me, but Jean could only kiss me harder between half-articulated apologies.

We kissed until we were sobbing so much we could barely breath, and then I rested my forehead on Jean’s and cupped his face in my hands, little whispers of _‘please, please Jean, please’_ pouring out of my mouth like a mantra.

Neither of us was a pretty cryer and it was a mess, but I was a fourteen years old about to lose his best friend and his first love, so I didn’t care about anything beside what was happening inside that fort.

Jean told me everything was going to be okay, ‘I’ll come back, ok? I promise’ he said, eyes red and puffed.

And I believed him, and promised I would wait for him.

In that moment, I meant it. I was devastated, and the way I felt when we were so close made me forget that two boys with empty promises didn’t stand a chance against a world made for grown ups.

****

-o-o-

****

When I turned seventeen, my parents gave me a little boat.

It wasn’t fancy, but it was big enough for me and my friends to make journeys to the reef every other weekend.

Connie and Sasha loved diving, and Armin always talked about weirdly interesting facts about corals. Whenever I let Eren drive for a little bit, we usually ended up in a place none of us knew, and Mikasa had to take us back (she always seemed to know the way, somehow).

Going out with my friends always meant laughing, and boat trips were my favorites right after bonfires nights.

Even if it was small and rather old, I really liked Jinae.

It took me a lot of time and help for that feeling to grow, though.

The first months without Jean were the worsts.

I would sit in the harbor for hours, waiting for him to come back. Every time somebody said something that sounded like ‘Jean’, or I heard a voice similar to his, I would turn around, searching for a pair of honey eyes. I even dug up many of the 'treasures' we buried through the years, wanting desperately to hold onto something.

I knew the world wasn’t ending because he wasn’t there anymore. I knew I could keep breathing and laughing and enjoying… But I missed him. There was a void inside of me and I just wanted to feel that overwhelming sensation that always came along with being with Jean again.

It was more pathetic than romantic, but I was desperate and so _so_ lonely.

Then the new school year started, and I slowly learned how to live a life without Jean for the first time.

I got to really know and talk to my classmates, and day by day, things seemed to get better. Nobody made me feel the same kind of fireworks that Jean did, but friendship filled up that void with a warm and harmless fire.

I was happy, and suddenly I was looking at the town with a whole new light. Bright and colorful.

Things turned out okay, and one day I woke up and found out I wasn’t sad anymore.

Sorrow turned into nostalgia.

****

-o-o-

****

Jean came back one week before the start of my Senior year.

Armin was planning a bonfire at the beach, and I loved bonfires. They were calm and fun, and the promise of smores, friends and alcohol kept me happy for two days.

That wednesday the day was specially cold, and my clothes were frosted by the light drizzle that was falling while I walked home.

The first thing I noticed when I came inside the house was the dead silence.

There wasn’t the usual noise of my mom cooking, or the TV low on the background.

‘Mom? Dad? I’m home’ I called out, leaving my scarf and umbrella next to the door.

My parents never let the home alone, so they had to be there, somewhere. I went upstairs to look in their room, and by the serious way my mom was speaking, I knew they hadn’t heard me coming.

I also knew I should’ve left.

‘And what do you expect me to do, Federico? We can’t lie to him! He’ll find out eventually, and you know it!’

That was the first time I heard my mom raise her voice.

‘It’s for his own good. You know how bad it was last time, and Carla told me she heard that Charles won’t even let the boy go out to school’

It took me less than ten seconds to recognize that name, and the memory of too much beer and long nights playing video games hit me like a punch in the face.

My backpack hit the ground with a loud _thump_ , and the fear of being exposed went unnoticed under the weight of retaliation.

‘Marco, what are you...’

I wasn’t listening.

My mind was running too fast, and I felt my heartbeat rumble in my ears.

‘He’s back’

They didn’t answer ‘cause it wasn’t a question.

I ran.

It was starting to rain and I wasn’t even sure if Mr.Kirschtein would let me come in, but my feet were moving and I was praying it was late enough for Jean’s dad to be in the bar.

Discolored blue walls and a old wooden porch made my stomach turn as I walked to the door.

Have you ever went to the beach and sit on the shoreline, thinking _what would happen if there’s a tsunami and I got dragged to the ocean, right now?_

Is the same feeling of loving the sea, but being scared to fall off the boat.

And is the same feeling of an old white door opening after too many years.

Jean looked pale and surprised, and I felt so overwhelmed that my throat closed so tightly I could barely breath.

I’d spent so many years holding a double edge knife; trying to kill a feeling but simultaneously feeding it up with memories. And in that moment I knew I had to decide if I was going to stab myself, or drop the knife.

He spoke first.

‘You got taller than me’ he said, and it was so out of place, so unexpected and _s_ o Jean.

I laughed but it sounded broken.

He stepped aside and I came in, but neither of us moved once he closed the door.

‘You were gone for so long’ I commented, and it was probably the wrong thing to say but I didn’t care.

‘I know’

‘Where did you get back?’

‘A week ago’

‘Are you staying?’

‘I don’t know’

Then I realized that that Jean, downcast eyes and restless hands, wasn’t the same Jean that had left four years ago.

It was something to be expected; neither I was the same Marco. But there was something more, something gloomy and cloudy.

This was a Jean who had being here for a week without telling me.

This was a Jean who was giving up without fighting.

And I felt like, if I touched him, he would burst like a bubble. Gone, like a mirage.

‘How...how’s Trost?’ I tried.

‘I hated it’

His tone was bitter and his voice was broken, and after a minute of awkward silence, he asked me lo leave.

I wouldn’t, and he knew, but insisted anyways. His eyes were watery and red, and I could hear the way his breathing sounded more and more broken every time.

I had missed him so badly, and he looked so crushed and damaged, so not Jean. His heart was broken and mine surely would break, but even if he didn’t want me to, I would pick up the pieces so he could mend himself.

But first I needed him to talk to me.

I took his hand, and that first touch after all those years felt like electricity. Jean must have felt the same, 'cause when I looked at him he was staring at me with big red eyes.

I tugged softly and he resisted, shaking his head.

Jean told me he couldn't go and, once again, asked - pleaded, almost begged - me to leave.

I said I wouldn't, and we ended up in his bedroom, both sitting cross-legged on his bed. The room was exactly like I remembered, and the feeling of home was so painfully familiar that, for a second, I thought we were twelve again.

'I heard you've been doing great, top of the class and everything...' he commented, like he wasn't a nervous wreck about to break in front of me just five minutes ago 'You're made to make it big. I guess we can't all be that lucky' he smiled, sad but also sharp and hostile.

Passive-aggressiveness wasn't his thing, and I told him.

He just nodded, agreeing.

'Do you have a girlfriend? I saw Mikasa the other day, and she's hot. There wasn't a single hot person in Trost... They're just too boring and lame for that' he took a cigar and a flask out of his jacket.

Like that, with a cigarette between his lips and talking about hot chicks, he looked scarily like his dad.

I pulled the cigar out of his mouth.

'What the hell, Marco?'

'Stop it. You look like your dad'

He stared at me, and his face morphed into something that remind me of a scared cat.

'Then I should give you a black eye, to meet the expectations' he spat out.

That disclosure hurt so much that I would've rather he'd hit me.

'Jean, please... Talk to me' I begged him 'I don't want to lose you again, no if I can do something to prevent it’

His expression changed again, and he looked as worn-out as he did before, when he opened the door.

He took a shaky breath, giving up.

'My mom' he started, so soft I could barely hear him 'She died a few months after I got to Trost...She was really sick, and we spend most of our time together in the hospital because a blood disease or some shit like that. When she passed away, I had to go to my aunt's house and lived with her and my cousins, ‘cause I had nobody else, and-- God, they're so fucking _stupid_ ' he laughed bitterly 'They kept talking 'bout Jesus and Heaven and how my mom died cuz she was a pagan, and made me go to Church _every goddamn Sunday_ ' Jean swallowed hard 'The people there-- they're mean. Worst than my aunt. They talked shit about anything and anyone who wasn't like them, and I knew they were judging me and I just couldn't handle it, not when my mom had just died and everybody said so many horrible things about her so... I got really depressed after like six months living with them'

Jean looked so small and helpless that my hands moved before my brain. I ended up cupping his face, just like years ago, but this time was my turn to help him calm down.

'Hey, hey, it's fine. _You're_ fine' I said it to comfort him, because we both knew I was lying.

He sniffed hard, and I stopped a tear rolling down his cheek.

'The things they said... You've got no idea, Marco. They told me I was going to Hell just because I fucking _smoked_. One day I didn’t want to get out of the bed, and after that I didn’t leave my room for two weeks… But my aunt insisted I was just _'expelling the Devil out of my body'_ , so she didn't seek me help'

'What!?' I blurted out, shocked.

'I know, right?' he looked at me for a second before dropping his gaze again 'I tried to kill myself when I turned sixteen, how fucked up is that?'

I felt like the floor was replaced by water and I forgot how to swim.

The fact that Jean could've been out of my life _forever_ scared me so much that I froze.

'I just wanted everything to go away, so I stole her sleeping pills and took like half bottle, maybe more. My cousin’s boyfriend found me in the bathroom and made me throw them up. That was the wake up call to my aunt, and she found me a doctor... He was another religious jerk, but at least I got better'

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

'Are you... Are you alright now?' I asked in a shaky whisper.

'My brain isn't so fucked up anymore'

That wasn't a yes.

'Anyways' he continued 'When I wasn't a suicidal risk anymore, my aunt decided she couldn't take care of this mess and sent me back' his tone was sour and harsh.

That had been only a few weeks ago. A month, top.

Of course he wasn't alright.

'And then I came here and surprise! Daddy didn't even knew my mom had fucking died. Can you believe that? It was almost four years ago' he said, bitterly.

_Shake._

'I had to tell him, and suddenly everything was my fault... I really loved her, Marco. I still do' this time, when he looked up, his eyes didn't shy away. I saw honey eyes drowning in tears 'and you know what they say- bad habits die hard... Surprise number two: daddy has a heavy hand.'

_Bend._

'I just... I wanted to find you, to tell you I was here again. That was the only thing I really wanted to do... But my dad got really angry because he doesn’t like your family anymore and we had a big fight and he--' a sob broke the sentence 'I don't want him to hurt you because of me...Shit, I don't want _me_ to hurt you. My brain might not be a fucking wreck, but I am.'

_Break._

'I won't leave you' I said, and I really meant it.

I meant it as much as a seventeen years old who had learned about a world made for grown ups could do it.

'Marco, your life is just fine without me to weigh you down. I've always been the one with the bad ideas'

'I don't care' I gently squished his face with my hands and rested my forehead against his 'It has been too long since the last time we were this close; since I touched you. And I rather being a fool than being without you again' I stroked his cheeks tenderly.

It was true.

Jean looking so miserable only made me want to be the one with the awful ideas.

It made me want to be _bad_.

'Jean, you're my best friend. I love you'

I knew I had decided to stab myself instead of dropping the knife, and _oh God_ , it hurt.

But then Jean hugged me tight, his head resting on my shoulder and his soft whimpers filling the room.

'I missed you... I missed you _every fucking day_ since I left' he whispered, low and hoarse.

And, even though it still hurt, it wasn't painful.

It hurt good.

 _So_ good.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think??? Any comment is welcome, and would make me really happy.
> 
> The second video is coming out today (yay!), so I hope I get the second part soon!!!!


End file.
